𝔽𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥 𝔽𝕒𝕥𝕖.

❝ 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝙲𝙷𝙾𝙸𝙲𝙴! ❞

[myersbprd]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓, 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓. ― an independent, private, and exclusive roleplay blog for agent john t. myers from hellboy. canon and headcanon based, with primary influences from the 2004 film and comics. crossover and multiverse friendly. written by raph, 21+, est. 2019.

𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒: carrd. memes. headcanons. promo. multimuse blog.

[electrichedonia]

Just the parting of those sweet lips was enough to have Jun imagining how they'd look opening wider, flushed and taut yet still a tad soft. And how might John work his tongue, or where would he concentrate the most attention? Questions he could guess the other was equally eager to answer.

"So I've been told," Jun chuckled. He'd certainly had praise for his responsiveness far more often than complaints. Expression softening anew, his blush spread further on his cheeks when John's mouth wrapped round his thumb in an enticing preview. Jun crooked his thumb a little, to press against the man's tongue in a subtle rub. He made no attempt to rein in small rolls of his hips to meet John's stroking hand, and every press to his tip.

Jun let the other's mouth retreat, hopeful where it would go next. Another long gust of a moan rushed out at the first drag of John's tongue over his sensitive cockhead. He didn't try to rush anything, just let his fingers curl in John's hair with another scrape of nails while his legs fell open as wide as they could on the couch.

All the while, low-lidded eyes watched every stroke and slide and kiss. Even more than the actual attentions, Jun instead memorized the fan of long lashes above reddened cheeks, the flickers of hazel glances, the feel of short dark hair between his fingers, the steadiness and confidence of those callused hands, the timbre of every sound... The kinds of things that truly made a partner memorable, in Jun's mind.

Arching a bit at finally feeling John's mouth around him, he then melted against the cushions with a throaty groan, head tipped back onto the couch's armrest. "Fuck, even better than I thought..." His lingering half-smile was audible in his words. "Just like that, John, keep going."

[myersbprd]

With his hand on Jun's hip, John felt the other man arch slightly off the couch before a deep noise of pleasure left that perfect throat. Further heat pooled low in his stomach at garnering such a reaction, though he intended for it to only be one of many. He anticipated the climbing crescendo, of drawing it every sound he possibly might.

However, the praise that followed was just as beautiful. Fresh color rose in John's cheeks and tinged the tips of his ears, while he uttered a quiet moan around Jun's tip. He liked the way in which the singer's expression was injected into each syllable of the commendation; it wasn't necessary for his gaze to lift higher to see if what he thought he discerned was correct, because he already knew. As it was, the encouragement as he was urged to ' keep going ' prompted a twitch between his legs that he forced himself not to reach down and touch.

Dipping his head lower, John began to take in more and more of Jun's length past his lips. He continued his firm strokes along the shaft all the while, his other hand sliding lower to brush, to tease, up and down a soft inner thigh. Jun was splayed out for him like a work of art, and he wouldn't allow an inch to go unacknowledged if he possessed the means to appreciate it ( to touch it ).

That was precisely why John pulled back. Once his lips were again just wrapped around the head of Jun's cock, he sucked on it gently while his eyes glanced upwards, seeking that handsome face. He wished to see what awaited him there as his tongue grazed over the slit, swirled over the red tip, pressed against the underside. What made Jun most desperate, and what coaxed forth uncontrollable squirms of pleasure?

After all, John had been told he could tease, and he would. Although his own arousal ached for attention, he wanted this — to unravel Jun into an absolute and magnificent mess. With every stroke of his fingers, each drag of his tongue, he would learn just how to push this gorgeous man to teetering on the edge. And John was nothing if not determined.

[blood-reborn-simon]

"Well you're sure as fuck not a Child of Eden." None of this makes sense. He's so exhausted he's dizzy, and the guy might be speaking the same language but it's all nonsense.

Unless...

No. After ten years people would know if there was another faction out there. And all the stations were already accounted for.

Unless this was a generation ship. A third, secret holdout of humanity, hiding in the starless void while Eden and the COI ripped each other to shreds.

But why?

He drops back with a huff, sitting on his haunches and staring blankly at the man. John, apparently.

John, who didn't know who he was. Didn't know what he'd done.

His breath hitched, but he forced it steady with a thick swallow, raising his hand to rub at his face and grimacing at the slick slide of blood on his skin.

"... Simon. Uh."

It's hard to think. He'd hit his head hard enough to black out in the sub, maybe more than once. A serious concussion was definitely a possibility.

"I, um. I was- I was on one of the blood moons. AT-5. They- the Consolidation sent me down, for... Research. Taking pictures. Then a sample from a skeleton I found. I don't think they wanted me to come back alive."

[myersbprd]

' Well you're sure as fuck not a Child of Eden. ' John's eyebrows rise marginally at this vehement assessment of him. "I'm not sure if that's a good thing or an insult." However it's intended, this is the first statement he's certain that he agrees with.

Tilting his head as the bloodied figure hunkers down, he again studies the stranger staring back at him.

No, it's Simon. Simon is staring back at John. At the very least, he has a name now that he can assign to the face.

And it's obvious that Simon is struggling to parse through what to say. Of course, not that he can begrudge that; whatever has happened to this guy, it involved blood and fear and pain. Not only that, but it was engrained enough to prompt immediate defensiveness, to presume that John wanted Simon dead the second their eyes met.

Although the ensuing explanation he's given doesn't wholly illuminate the situation, it's a place to start.

Oh, yet he's even more curious now. What does all of this entail — blood moons ( that's what AT-5 is! ), the Consolidation? And what about this research would render Simon too much of a threat to be allowed to live?

Nevertheless, John catches his bottom lip between his teeth before all of these queries can spill out. Chancing a few steps closer, he crouches down himself so that his gaze is level with Simon's. "I've got a lot of questions." An understatement, really. "But you're kinda my main concern right now. Even if all of this blood can't be yours, how badly are you hurt?"

[myersbprd]

──  what enters the room before you do ?

the energy

you arrive like warmth does, without asking permission. before you speak, before you settle into a chair, something in the room softens. conversations loosen their shoulders. silences stop feeling accusatory. people don’t always know why they feel safer around you; they just do. your presence is porous. you feel atmospheres the way skin feels temperature. joy clings to you easily. so does unease. you often carry emotions that were never formally handed to you - just left in the air, assumed you’d hold them. still, there is something grounding about you. you remind people that gentleness isn’t weakness, that openness can be steady. colours: honey, warm amber, sunlit linen. scene: sitting cross-legged on the floor while others talk around you, quietly anchoring the room just by being there.

tagged by: @amused-bouche ( thanks so much! ) tagging: @bethestone ( kara ), @eldritchsign ( frank ), @blood-reborn-simon, @ofrcgency ( emma ), @thelonelyherothing ( or whichever muse you'd like ) + whoever else wants to do this.

[herrnarkejaponica]

As close as they still were, Karl felt that anticipating tension when their lips brushed. He was pretty sure he'd also caught a little huff at the delay of any more, and with the way John looked up past pretty lashes in such open interest, there wasn't room left for second guesses. The other's grin tugged at his own. 'All of it', then? John was welcome to try; that confident declaration, almost a demand, rippled excitement down Karl's spine.

His smile only melted away when their kisses deepened, all his focus honed on each attention, on mirroring and reciprocating them as much as he could. Where they were and how much time there was left in the intermission faded as well from his mind. What mattered were John's lips and tongue and teeth, so intoxicating that Karl's knees felt weak. Helpful, then, to be quite willingly pinned between the wall and his favorite person.

Each tug on grey hair garnered quiet, sighed-out hums, and left Karl's skin abuzz with craving more. He'd allow those pulls to last longer, in particular if he ever got his head between John's thighs. How good might the younger man sound then? What if those positions were reversed, how fast might this incredible mouth make him lose his mind? Where else might it wander?

It was John's hand that wandered for now - enough on its own to make Karl wish he was less clothed - down to where his new shirt was tucked in. He let slip a short surprised noise into the other man's mouth when one side of his shirtfront was tugged free of his belt, but he made no move to stop John. What better way to figure out how this passionate gentleness would feel beyond the 'safer' territory of Karl's hands and face? That curiosity didn't prevent another breath from stumbling through his nose, or the muscles of his stomach and side (beneath the healthy softness he'd regained from steady meals at the Bureau) from twitching on reflex beneath John's touch. Half his focus was diverted to that point of contact, how it lit up his nerves - sharp at first, then slowly warm when there was no twist of violence like his body was accustomed to.

Karl wanted more, wanted to exhume that reflex and expectation from anything to do with John. The idea of losing it, of hoping for and getting gentleness, seemed on the frightening verge of impossible. Maybe he'd be stupid for thinking that was possible. Maybe he'd be reminded that violence was inevitable with him. He still clung to John, content to drown in the taste and feel of the man. He still let a palm slide further down John's back for a handful of one rear cheek, to try and pull the other even closer against him. He still wanted this, all of this, everything he could have and give.

[myersbprd]

The sensation of every sigh into their kiss permitted John a fresh flare of gratification. Each time, it was just a little more of the breath he had said Karl would give him, and it sent his pulse thrumming faster. ' I want it. Want you. ' With another press of his lips, the words reverberated through his mind. John knew they were stitched into the fabric of his memory now, their candor ensuring that they would never be undone.

Although the newest noise he garnered as his hand slipped beneath Karl's shirt was one of surprise, it didn't sound displeased. While retreat wasn't necessary, his touch remained gentle in its surety. Karl wasn't glass about to shatter, yet John was keenly aware of how new this was for the other man. Trailing his palm along warm skin, the involuntary quiver under his fingertips only served to remind him of the novelty this must be in many different ways.

Still, Karl didn't push him away or question him. That there had to be so much trust between them ( must be ) filled him again with a sort of wonder. If Karl ever allowed him, John would touch everywhere with his hands, his body, his mouth — over and over, until the only reaction to it that remained was one of eager anticipation. What might that look like? Where would Karl come to crave such ministrations the most? Oh, he wished to soften the sharp edge of memory, smooth it down, however long it took.

The thought was only just blooming in his mind when a startled hum of his own escaped him. So focused had he been on touching Karl that John had nearly lost sight of being touched, too; the sudden, firm grip on his rear swiftly reminded him. He reveled in the way his companion continually drew him near, an arm still wrapped around him tight while that hand grasped at his ass to pull him even closer. Withdrawing his fingers from graying hair, he pressed them to Karl's chest and gave a gentle squeeze. Dammit. John knew he was too caught up in this ( maybe they were sequestered from sight but they were in public, where anyone else might decide to duck into this alcove for a quiet moment, too ), though he couldn't fathom how he would be anything else. Nevertheless, he was saved from establishing the decision of ' how far ' himself when a chime sounded in the lobby to alert that it was time for concert-goers to begin finding their way back to the auditorium.

"Do I win?" The question was whispered teasingly against Karl's lips before he tucked his face along the older man's neck. Catching his own breath for a beat, his cheeks still warm, just how real this was began to settle in John's bones. Whatever existed between them was no longer a nebulous possibility nor a question that felt too tenuous to think about, much less answer. But now, it was Karl's arms around him, Karl's body flush with his, Karl's heart hammering beneath his palm. The world had shifted under his feet; there was no pretending that it hadn't, and there was no turning back.

John didn't want to turn back.

Instead, he leaned into Karl as his fingers finally retreated from beneath the dress shirt that he thought looked so handsome. The moment when he had said as much somehow seemed forever ago now! John's mouth brushed against Karl's neck, the name he had used for the first time that night spoken in another hushed murmur. "Karl."

[blood-reborn-simon]

Well, at least this guy isn't a complete idiot. Knows to stay back from the guy with the knife, and (hopefully) knows not to fire a gun on a fucking space station.

... Newark? That's not any of the COI stations—he should know, he's spent time in a cell on all of them at this point.

Well. All the ones that are left.

And this place is too big to be a ship, unless they were hiding a fucking generation ship somewhere.

"Where did I-" He breaks off in an incredulous, bitter laugh. His hand drops from the knife, instead shoving bloodsoaked hair back from his face as a near-manic grin spreads across it. "The fucking ocean. On AT-5. Where you sent me to die."

I want to help you.

What a fucking joke.

"If you don't know who I am, you're probably the stupidest bastard in the Consolidation."

[myersbprd]

Everything about this conversation is off. They're out of sync in some way, like a video with audio that lags a few seconds. Sure, they comprehend the individual words that are spoken, yet John doesn't understand the meaning of them all together any more than he would if the guy was speaking an unfamiliar language.

The brandished knife drops to the ground, and the expression that now etches itself across the blood-soaked face staring back at him is somehow infinitely more alarming.

"I'm not in the Consolidation. I don't know what that is." He hates being talked to like he's an idiot, but it's difficult to take particular offense in this bizarre scenario. And there's that mention of on AT-5, which means nothing to John. If there's an ocean, does that mean AT-5 is a boat? Is this stranger in the midst of a delusion? That feels feasible, although it doesn't explain the blood. Unless —

"If I'm not even sure who you are, then I couldn't have sent you anywhere to die. And I think, maybe, we're not where you believe we are."

Tilting his head slightly, he considers the last time he saw a rift open overhead, something his world couldn't comprehend almost reaching through a portal. Could this be like that? "My name's John. Why don't you tell me yours, and what happened right before you ended up here? We might be able to figure this out together."

[myersbprd]

with @eldritchsign + continued from here!

Frank was about to scoff at him, John could tell. Foretold by the settle of the older man's posture and the raise of a hand, he simply waited for it. As it was, he wasn't sitting here because he had anticipated anything different ( even if some quiet part of him had, perhaps too stubbornly for his own good, hoped for it ); no, that wasn't it at all.

John knew there was a lot that Frank didn't share with him and quite possibly never would. Although he could guess about everything that weighed so heavily on his partner's shoulders as much as he liked, it wasn't what he considered the most. Instead, he preferred to focus on being present now, in making it evident ( not in so many words ) that he would listen if there was ever anything Frank did wish to tell him. And if not? Well, maybe John could just be trusted to watch Frank's back, here and when they were in the thick of things. Maybe he could be a safe place to set that weight down for a while. Whether he was ever taken up on any part of that, at least he was there.

Then, Frank smiled, and the corners of John's lips inched upwards with surprise. That certainly wasn't the reception he had expected. "It's not babysitting, and I'm not doing it 'cause I think I have to," he said with a grin ( and ignoring the way that whatever it was about that nickname, Johnny, made the back of his neck feel a little warmer ). "Maybe I want the company."

[writinganewsong]

It was Orpheus' turn to nod, with fleeting bemusement at John's surprise. Of course him, why not him? There was no one way for a musician to look or behave - something he'd known already before his death, and something only reinforced by both the shades he'd associated with in the Underworld then the music he'd discovered since returning to the mortal world.

His own surprise over the other man's lack of musical experience didn't last long, either. So, it was a mix of innate rhythm sense and practice after all! What lingered was a quiet hint of melancholy, to know that John loved music yet hadn't been given the chance to learn it. Would it be overreaching to offer tutelage? That might depend on what sort of instrument the man wanted to play, of course, and his experience wasn't yet as far-reaching nor in-depth as Apollo's - but the idea still had appeal.

Speaking of instruments... what would John play? Orpheus snickered at the addition about the organ, and shook his head this time. "No, that's a little too much labor involved for most people. Hm..." His draped coat swayed, hair fluttering, with the motion of their dance and the light breeze over the balcony. All the while, Orpheus gazed at John, measuring what he knew of the man so far. "Cello, I think, of the more modern instruments. A lovely sound with wide range on its own, while among others it can blend in yet you always notice its absence." Was he flirting again? A little. Did he care? Not unless John minded.

[myersbprd]

Another grin flickered along John's lips at the sound of Orpheus' amusement. Although organs were considered stereotypically somber, he knew they could sound just as joyful depending on the piece. However, the mere notion of learning to play one was exhausting, and exhausting was certainly not the adjective he would hope Orpheus might ascribe him. Nor was stereotypically somber, as a matter of fact.

A corner of John's mouth lifted a little higher once more while he watched as Orpheus seemed to study him in some way. Whatever the other man had to say, he rather liked finding himself the focus of that dark gaze. As a reply was finally given, his own hazel eyes trailed across Orpheus' face, alight with quiet curiosity for both the answer and its speaker.

A cello. John had always enjoyed the sound of that particular string instrument, and the scope of deep emotion it was capable of conjuring. Yet he couldn't help but wonder, with the manner in which Orpheus looked at him during the ensuing description of it — was this only about the instrument?

"Since you're the musician, I'll trust your opinion." A smile, subtle and soft, rose to his countenance. "Being told you suit a cello is kinda beautiful." Slowly enough that it would be understand what he was doing this first time, John lifted their clasped hands to give Orpheus a gentle turn of spin before pulling his companion in closer once more. "Thank you. Maybe I'll be lucky enough to learn how to play someday." It sounded fanciful to his ears, but it was nice to imagine. Then, he feigned a moment of consideration. "Hm, I could play it to serenade you, and then you could tell me if you were still sure you were right."

[daratash]

His temper and patience were already frayed by the constant dispatches since the start of shift. Add to that the annoyance of having to work with a federal agent, and Zahir wasn't feeling too polite. The only mercy was, Myers didn't seem the type to complain about pointless shit when there was a job to do. Even if that promise only made Zahir snort quietly. Sure; he'd believe that when he saw it.

As they entered, the heat of his breath furled clouds in the still air, while the extra warmth still lingering in booted feet melted a trail of footsteps through that sheen of ice on the floor. This much ice in just the kitchen, before they'd even found the guy responsible? The least Simon Anders could do, after this was over, would be covering the water damage bills.

Zahir noticed the thicker ice spreading from under one door, at almost the same time Myers did. He didn't expect the other to make a beeline for it, without even mentioning any more of a plan. More surprising was the ask for his name, something that wasn't his hero alias. Easy enough; it was the why that baffled him.

He masked his confusion with another scoff, though he did at least match Myers' volume. "You ask every hero for their name?" Closing distance to pause beside the agent, one hand resting on his own hip, Zahir lifted his other to show how the freezing air shimmered around it, a slight amber glow evident from both sides of his palm - then rested it on Myers' upper back. Just enough of his power to keep the man warm. "It's Chad. ...And don't run ahead like that. If he has some fucking freakout or something, fire stops it better than bullets."

Though he kept his hand on Myers, Zahir approached the door where ice was branching out from. His touch melted the frost on the knob til it was faintly steaming, and he managed to shove it open without too much resistance from the frozen hinges.

[myersbprd]

Chad. Although John was quite sure the name was fake, that didn't matter. Before he could say a ' thank you ', Flambae continued. ' …And don't run ahead like that. If he has some fucking freakout or something, fire stops it better than bullets. ' For the first time, he felt a ripple of genuine annoyance; he hated being treated as if he was stupid. Nevertheless, a comment tinged with levity slipped past John's lips as he said, "If you think that was running, then you should see me jog." His tone wasn't caustic, but he forced himself to shut his mouth anyway. If his humor was misconstrued as combative, he could make this already flimsy partnership worse.

As Flambae approached the door, melting the ice on the handle before pushing it open, John metered his steps so that they remained side-by-side. The scene awaiting them within was reminiscent of the kitchen and hallway: ice spiderwebbed across the windows while a sheet of it covered the floor. It was freezing, and he was grateful for the warmth of Flambae's hand seeping through his coat; even though it was only done for the sake of the whole Fed with frostbite thing, he still appreciated it. The room was furnished as an office of sorts, and on a small couch situated against the opposite wall lay a woman who appeared to be unconscious, her skin much too pale, while her brother hovered nearby. Instantly, their entrance sent Simon whipping around to face them. "Who the fuck are you?" Although Simon didn't seem menacing at a glance ( young, tall but thin, with glasses askew and wide eyes ), the wind outside fairly howled in unison with the inquiry hurled at them.

Holding his hands up, John said, "My name's John, and this is Chad. We want to help, if you'll let us." If they humanized themselves first, there was a better chance of lowering Simon's guard more quickly. Yes, Flambae was flashy and attractive in a manner that probably brought reassurance in other scenarios, yet at the moment? It might come across as threatening should they burst in as Agent Myers and Flambae. John and Chad didn't sound like a facade for two people who came here expecting a fight. They sounded real.

"Yeah, right." Simon was angry, but there was fear there, too. "You want to arrest me, don't you? Or maybe you're just gonna try to kill me." Okay, so it was like that. With one palm still up, John pulled out his firearm ( careful not to hold it in any way that might suggest he was about to use it ). "We don't want to hurt you." Crouching down to place the gun on the floor, he tipped his chin in the direction of the couch. "That's your sister, right? What's her name?" He already knew the answer, though he nodded his head while Simon, gaze narrowing said, "Evie. Her name's Evie." As he stood up, he kicked the weapon behind him and back into the hallway. "Did she move to Los Angeles 'cause the weather's better? If you like all the sun and heat, anyway. But I mean, we both know it's more fun here than in Newark." Now Simon was staring at him like he was crazy. "Why didn't you move here, too?" C'mon, talk to me. "Yeah," Simon spoke slowly, suspicion still evident but belligerence replaced by uncertainty. "Evie always says Newark is dreary. And her boyfriend's here. But I didn't want to leave my teaching job in New Jersey."

Yes, there we go! "You're a teacher? That's awesome." It would be better if they could keep the conversation going, but this wasn't an ' ideal ' hostage negotiation; Evie Anders probably had hypothermia, and they didn't have time to build a better bridge than what they currently had. As Simon nodded, John continued, "Teachers do a lot to help other people. But you came here so she could help you, didn't you?" Simon looked stricken before saying, "When I got here, she said that we should call someone. I'd thought she was gonna protect me, you know? And we started arguing, and I couldn't control this — all of this!" Simon gestured wildly. "I followed her in here, and she was on the phone with the fucking cops! The power went out and she was trying to get away from me like she didn't even know me, like I'm a monster!"

"I know you didn't mean to hurt your sister. I can tell you love her." Personal reservations were of no consequence right now; Simon needed someone to understand, and that was what John would do. "With Chad's powers, he can try to help her." Suddenly, Simon was on edge again; the man gripped Evie's arm, and she started to shiver. "Hey, you can show her that you're still you by letting Chad help her. Will any of this matter if she's dead?"

Simon's eyes darted from him to Flambae, clearly thinking. "What're you gonna do to her?" Stepping closer to the couch, as if guarding her despite the fact that it was their proximity that was harming her, Simon tacked on, "Can you do it from over there?"

[amused-bouche]

Despite the mecha's eyes only remaining the slightest sliver of open, his field of vision was far beyond what a human's could ever be. He could easily see the tint of pink on John's face. That compacted with all of the body signals he could read only made him grin. He was beyond pleased that the other also seemed to enjoy the bit of cheesy romance too.

"I've had very good teachers." Geo said with a soft chuckle before stealing another small kiss. He had programming for situations like this, but they hadn't necessarily given him every possible scenario. It also helped that given all his experience with John, he figured he might have gone for something like this.

He slowly brought John back up, knowing that a position like that shouldn't be held for too long with a human that had joints and muscles. He kept one arm round his waist, holding him close, guiding him into a soft way with the music he was still playing, going for one of the softer and far more romantic Sinatra tunes. He started to lightly trace along John's spine with his other hand.

"I promise I'll take good care of you..." He uttered quietly against his lips.

[myersbprd]

As Geo righted them both once more, John harbored no intention of relinquishing their closeness ( unless he was told that it was no longer wanted ). With the gentle sound of Sinatra still filtering through the air, he didn't withdraw his arms. Even if the song had changed, he found it easy to fall back into the rhythm of a simple sway to the melody.

However, the sensation of Geo's fingertips trailing along John's spine was rather distracting in the nicest way. It sent another pleasurable shudder through him, then another. Of course, he was cognizant of the fact that Geo could tell without him saying a word, which wasn't particularly fair, in his opinion!

In the midst of it, the words murmured against his lips captured all of John's attention. His heart was fairly twisting in his chest, as if it felt so much that it wasn't sure what to do with it all. "I don't think anyone's ever said that to me." His reply was just as soft, before he tilted his head to whisper in Geo's ear. "I know you will."

Then, John pressed their foreheads together, his eyes flickering shut. "We'll take care of each other. And you'll tell me what makes you happy, and if there's ever something new you want to try." A quiet grin rose to his countenance, his gaze opening to meet Geo's. "Like dancing in the kitchen." He tilted his chin so that their mouths brushed again. "Or this," John breathed, pressing his lips to Geo's in another lingering kiss.

[thedefinitionofwarlock]

John must've met far more interesting demons than those he'd encountered face-to-face in this plane, though Warlock did hope it wasn't too many. Provided that was the case, it could be rather interesting to hear about them - even if certain someones were likely to pepper Warlock's mind with unwanted opinions on each of the demons in question. At the moment, however, finding those instructions was more important. The world already had one too many dabblers tugging on the brimstone thread with idle whims, it didn't need any more.

Warlock's expression did lighten a bit further with mild surprise when John asked him to specify. He supposed 'on' could've sounded vague, true, especially after finding out where the culprit's rot was. "Oh! No, don't worry, this time it should just be paper in his pocket. Well, it might be on his cellular phone, but nothing so permanent as carvings or burnings."

A sharper glance toward the man they'd snared - who had mostly stopped struggling, instead focused on not breathing too deep so close to what he'd coughed up. Warlock added with a brief curl of his upper lip, "His sort of dabbler has only stolen knowledge. Fools who think they're clever try to control it, bored elites treat it like a game, over and over for centuries. None of them realize what a demon contract takes from you." Half a beat for a steadying inhale, to keep himself together. "Not 'til it's too late."

The man would indeed have a page of disposal instructions, torn directly out of a book and folded up in his back pocket.

[myersbprd]

Were the circumstances any less macabre, John might have been tempted to smile a little at the surprise that alighted Warlock's face concerning his clarification. However, in a sense, it was all too raw for that. Cody's death, yes, yet also Warlock's demeanor ever since their discovery of that sigil carved into the wall. There was a heaviness there that he didn't fully understand ( perhaps he never would, as his friend still kept so much private ), and his apprehension about the toll it could be taking didn't leave much room for genuine amusement. "Okay, so on but not literally. Got it."

As if his prior contemplation had somehow summoned its return, Warlock's guise again shifted to disgust. Understandable though such revulsion may be, John felt certain that what drove it was far more personal. This hunch was given further credence when Warlock next spoke; oh, whatever experience his friend might have with any of this had clearly cut deep.

With a short nod, he approached the man again. There was little room for another attempt at a struggle as Vaughn kept the suspect still so that John could search any pockets he found. He pulled a smartphone that appeared brand new from a front pants pocket ( he utilized its facial recognition feature to gain access and switch off the passcode, just in case ), a wallet with an ID that would finally give them a name, and a torn piece of paper in a back pocket. Walking back to Warlock, he unfolded it completely before holding it up for them to examine. Indeed, printed on it were what looked to be directions for destroying the gate.

"Good job," John said, glancing to Warlock. "If we follow this, will it seal Ret'aeyaced away from here, send them back?" He paused for a beat. "Even if they're — out there?" There was a tip of his head to the window, with a sprawling view of the city.

[thelonelyherothing]

He could see the hunger burning in those pretty eyes the whole time he'd readied himself, how John's posture carried echoes of it down to that tight grasp on the sheets. Like the man was having to hold back from letting those hands roam all over him, like every inch of John was silently screaming 'I want you'. Something he'd already known, but loved seeing nonetheless. Especially when it coaxed a smile onto John's face.

Still, Hellboy didn't rush. Even though restless desire itched in his palms and thighs, he gave John a long window to catch breaths, to relax, to feel every moment of this. If he weren't so focused on sinking in to the base first, he would've leaned down for a kiss then and there. Hellboy let his watchful, adoring look do the job for now, despite the temptation of John's arms round his neck. His partner asked him not to stop, so he wouldn't, not until John expressed otherwise.

Hellboy almost paused, though, at the other's latter assurances. Not a second...? Not even when he was balking at every touch and needing help with basic crap and freaked out in a way he couldn't fully explain? 'Perfect', even when he'd felt messy and vulnerable in the worst way?

As groin met rear at last, Hellboy let himself answer first with a deep and loving kiss, pouring his gratitude into it. After, he only pulled back far enough to speak in a rumbling whisper. "I dunno what I did to deserve you, but I'd do it a hundred times." A gentler, shorter peck to John's lower lip. "I wanted you too, just like always. Even when it didn't seem like it, I did. I do. And I don't ever wanna make you doubt that."

Lifting his head just a little further to keep an eye on John's face, Hellboy pulled out halfway and pushed in with a careful, testing roll of his hips. The rhythm of each thrust was so slow, it could barely be called steady. Hellboy didn't want it to feel anything but good... and maybe teasing a desire for more.

[myersbprd]

As Hellboy sunk into him fully, a groan escaped John that was swiftly swallowed by a kiss. Although he met it eagerly, his fingers lacing behind his partner's neck as if in an effort to stop it from ever ending, he was struck by the the emotion encapsulated in each press of lips against his. Perhaps his assurances had reached Hellboy in the manner he hoped they would, not only full of praise but the very truth he hadn't questioned a single time.

When they parted, the brush of their mouths amid the whisper resonating from deep in the other man's throat sent a pleasurable shudder through John's body. That question, what Hellboy did to deserve him, was reminiscent of the murmuring about a ' lightning strike ' the first time they kissed on this bed. There was no lightning, no deserving. It was just Hellboy, like it had always been. Nothing could change that, especially not some stupid spell. Maybe its intention had been to diminish ( into a human, like him — he would prefer not to dwell again on the implications of that ), yet it couldn't even touch what it was that made Hellboy a hero to begin with.

Before John could say as much, a brief kiss was pressed to his lips once more. Then came an admittance that prompted a faint furrowing of his brow. Hellboy had wanted him while human?

The memory of it allowed some of John's misplaced mortification to filter through again, even though he logically knew the discomfort had all been a result of Hellboy's ' temporary body ' and not really anything to do with him. ' And I don't ever wanna make you doubt that. ' "I believe you." And he did; whether he understood it or not, he trusted that Hellboy wouldn't utter such a thing were it not true. Nevertheless, this seemed like the worst moment to convey the inquiries currently cataloged in John's mind ( such as: now that you've been ' human, ' d'you think I'm weak? ), with his companion pulling out halfway before thrusting back in.

"You never make me doubt you, ever. I just hate that you went through that, that me touching you ever made you feel — the way it did." Each push was impossibly slow, and he couldn't tell if Hellboy was trying to ease him into it, or doing it on purpose. Regardless of the answer, the heat of want prickled beneath his skin, eager and demanding. The next push into him up to the hilt, John clenched around Hellboy's cock, while one of his hands slid into dark hair to scratch at the warm skin beneath. "Hellboy."

[blood-reborn-simon]

Everything feels hazy and muffled, like he's been buried under a layer of dirt or sealed behind glass. Exhaustion drags at his bones like chains, urging him to let go, to fall asleep where he lays, and he's sorely tempted to give in.

At least until he hears the muted sounds of footsteps. His ears are clogged, but it still doesn't sound right—doesn't echo like it should on a ship or a station. And there's other unfamiliar noises in the distance, too, ones he can't identify.

And then he hears a voice.

It's a struggle against fatigue that seems to increase gravity far beyond what it should be, but he pushes himself to his knees, baring sharpened teeth in a silent snarl at the approaching figure. He's still unbalanced by the arm severed at his elbow, and it's made much worse by how tired he is, wobbling in place slightly as he reaches across his body to rest his palm on the handle of his knife, but not drawing it yet.

"Th'fuck do you think happened? You're the bastards who sent me down there, take a wild fucking guess." He rasps, spitting yet more blood out of his mouth as he sizes the stranger up. Shorter than him, and leaner—he could probably take them down without too much struggle, but...

Something clicks, like ill-fitting gears grinding against each other. This isn't the tow ship. And only an idiot would have a firearm on a space station.

"... Where the hell am I? What station is this?"

[myersbprd]

It appears to require intense effort to get up off the ground; whether the blood is from elsewhere or not, it's obvious this stranger is weakened. In spite of that, abnormally sharp teeth, also coated in red, snarl at John from beneath taut lips. Has he stumbled upon another vampire? The one just apprehended hadn't mentioned an accomplice, though perhaps they're loyal to one another ―

No, that's wrong. As his gaze takes in the other man's missing forearm ( is it previously amputated or a fresh loss? impossible to tell amidst all the blood ), he also notes two further factors that solidify his assessment: the knife, and that he's given a nonverbal warning.

Vampires rarely brandish blades as their primary source of intimidation. And this guy isn't immediately looking to rip John's throat out. And there's something else, an intrinsic exhaustion that seems to bear down on this person, a weight in the very marrow of their bones.

Although he pauses in his steps, he still doesn't reach for his gun. However, the accusation and question that follow send his brow furrowing. "I don't understand what you mean." Station. Like a fire station? Space station? What? "You're in Newark, New Jersey." John almost tacks on ' unfortunately, ' yet he doesn't think it'll be found particularly amusing at the moment.

"Where'd you come from? If you tell me what's happened, maybe I can help you." A pause, since he's dubious that what he states next will be believed, yet he says it regardless. "I want to help you."

[electrichedonia]

The way John shivered and gasped further proved Jun's compliment, not to mention how the other chased after his touch. Fun as it often was to coax a bed partner into opening up, he equally adored every time they started out eager already. And when they were a perfect balance of both, like a forthright man who still flushed at praise, well... those had all been very memorable.

"They should," was Jun's simple, soft insistence. He welcomed every nip and marking bite on his thighs with quiet hums past a contented yet heated smile, fingers combing through John's hair again and again. Time melted into long, syrupy drips. Jun's pulse thrummed in his legs, in his cock, in the backs of his ears, wanting but not yet desperate.

An audible gasp of his own escaped, lashes fluttering briefly without falling shut, when John finally took hold of his length. Jun sighed out another moan with a smile, answering those slow strokes with subtly firmer drags of his nails over John's scalp. Toes curling at how the other teased his ruddied tip, Jun reached his free hand down to take light, gentle hold of the man's chin and brush his thumb over that bottom lip streaked with color.

"You're welcome to. If it's half as good as kissing you, I know your mouth will feel amazing." Jun's smile tilted into a toothy smirk once more. "And you get to figure out how fast you might make me squirm."

[myersbprd]

The reactions John garnered were everything he might have hoped for, from the sounds spilling forth to the smile that graced Jun's face. Of course, there were the almost leisurely scratches of nails against his scalp, too, each resolute scratch sending fresh thrills through him. It felt so good that he had to remain purposeful with his attention, letting the sensation trickle heat through his veins as an addendum to the moment.

However, the fingers brushing beneath John's chin surprised him, his lips parting when Jun's thumb swiped over the little bit of purple and gold still smudged there. ' You're welcome to. ' Not exactly asking for what he had suggested, but what constituted an invitation in his mind, nevertheless. Another grin colored Jun's features, revealing rows of perfect teeth that wouldn't so much as touch him.

"And I'm sure you're incredible when you squirm." Upon pressing a kiss against the lingering thumb, John took it past his lips as he continued his relentless teasing of Jun's slit. For a moment, he stayed like that — his lips around the other man's finger, his ministrations curious to coax that flushed tip even redder. When he pulled away, it was so that his tongue could take the place of his hand instead, repeatedly dragging over the crown of Jun's cock while his hand wrapped now around the base.

John's fingers continued their rhythmic strokes, only interrupting himself when he pressed kisses up the sides before continuing. Drawing Jun's arousal past his lips, he swirled his tongue over the head with a deep, pleased exhale through his nose.

[herrnarkejaponica]

He wanted John closer, so close that the layers of clothes between them didn't matter. If he could, he'd keep the man in his ribcage, twined around his heart in place of the cadou, every spidering root of it replaced by the thrills from John's mouth and hands. In lieu of that, Karl clung tight and poured his want into every press of lips or slide of tongue - that cling feeling less like 'I'm pathetic' and more like 'he's mine'.

Karl's hold didn't even ebb when the other's grip on his shirt pushed him against the wall. He simply pulled John along, sighing out another quiet pleased groan through his nose. He knew he could break free of the embrace anytime he chose. As if he would, with John's tongue delving deeper.

It seemed way too soon when the other man pulled back. Karl's mouth faintly tingled from all the new sensations, while his eyes slivered halfway open again. Curious as he was about what John was trying to say, he nonetheless welcomed an interrupting kiss and nearly chased after that tug of teeth. "I want it," Karl whispered, low and a little drawling and burningly honest. "Want you." It was his turn for another kiss, though just a teasing, lingering graze of lips. "Come take as much of my breath as you can."

A game, the kind with no losers, where even winning less still sounded fun and a time limit only added thrill. The kind he'd play over and over in all different ways with John, probably the only person alive in the world Karl would metaphorically (and maybe literally) bare his throat to.

[myersbprd]

With the sound of Karl's voice, John's entire body was a live wire, and the crackling hum of a spark that carried through his veins was something irrepressible. Ignited by the way each syllable dragged just a little, how its cadence seemed to emanate from deep in the other man's throat — oh, he could nearly lean into it like a caress. And yet, it was the raw, unvarnished honesty underscoring all of it that burned the most fervently in his chest; as infeasible a thought as it was, he still wouldn't be surprised if Karl could feel it.

At the promise of a kiss, John's posture tensed eagerly before it turned into a mere brush of the lips. A quiet huff escaped him as he gazed up at Karl curiously through his lashes. ' Come take as much of my breath as you can. ' So, it was like that? A subtle grin stole across his face; he was more than willing to play.

"You're gonna give me all of it," John teased in a whisper, tipping his chin so their mouths met once more. This time, he didn't interrupt himself ( not to say anything, and not with a sense of trepidation over doing too much ), instead allowing each kiss its ardency with abandon. With every stroke of his tongue, press of his lips, and nip of his teeth, he willed them both closer yet it never seemed enough. John's grip curled tighter in Karl's hair, pulling in intermittent tugs that coincided with each new kiss. More, more, more. Maybe he shouldn't, but he couldn't resist — it would just be a little. His right hand slid down starched, white fabric to Karl's waist. Pulling a bit of the button-down shirt from his companion's slacks, John slid his fingers beneath it.

Although he wasn't hesitant now, he was prepared to withdraw if requested nonetheless. In the interim, his palm pressed against Karl's skin; maybe nothing would be quite close enough, but he would try.

[writinganewsong]

His light laugh in answer to John's praise reflected his expression, half-sheepish and half-proud. Though, any embarrassment he felt had more to do with his own reaction than with what the other man said. Orpheus knew he had talent, yet hearing it complimented so directly nonetheless sparked a pleased flutter in his chest - in particular when it was for something a bit outside his usual area of expertise.

Orpheus let John take the lead again. Falling into tempo with the overheard music made it easier to keep his eyes on the other, rather than on their feet. He found himself sorely tempted to conjure a few instruments of his own, a subtle accompaniment just for them, but refrained in the end. It could draw the kind of attention Orpheus didn't want at the moment, and that John might not want at all.

Instead, he huffed out another flustered, short chuckle; his gaze never left John's face all the while. "Mostly guitar these days, though I started on the lyre. I've some decent knowledge on other instruments too, just not as much." Partly because it made controlling his spectral versions of those instruments easier, but only partly. "What about you? With how well you keep up, you must have some."

Orpheus wouldn't mind being proven wrong, however; that'd just mean John had some inborn talent (bolstered by practice) as well.

[myersbprd]

At Orpheus' reaction to his comments, a quiet sort of relief rose to intermingle with the gratification in John's chest. If the other man hadn't seemed to enjoy the sway of their steps, he would have felt absolute chagrin over suggesting it at all. Instead, Orpheus appeared rather pleased, and those dark eyes lingered on his face now that there was a familiarity with each movement as it came.

John nodded as more than one instrument was mentioned in conjunction with his query. Impressive! His curiosity over whether Orpheus was a musician by trade or for pure enjoyment was equaled by intrigue over the lyre. As far as he was aware, he had never met anyone who boasted proficiency in such a lute; it was a type of lute, wasn't it? Well, it certainly seemed that Orpheus was the person John ought to pose the question to —

"Me?" Although he didn't intend to sound shocked by his companion's assumption, surprise underscored his voice regardless. "No, not at all. Not because I never wanted to learn, I love music." The number of concerts he had managed to attend in merely the first year he lived in Newark was probably a testament to that. "But it was — " John paused for a moment. "It was just never in the cards for me, I guess."

Then, a subtle grin played along his lips. "But if it was, what instrument would you think I played?" His eyebrows furrowed teasingly as he tacked on, "Please don't say the organ, or I might never recover."

[daratash]

Zahir watched the other agent reluctantly lower the gun with a distant, humorless smirk and a near-silent scoff; not surprising to see the Feds were as 'shoot first ask questions never' as the cops. Still, only when he didn't see any backlash for crossing his arms did his pulse ease back into calm. He spared a glance for the flash of the leader's - Myers, apparently - badge. BPRD, huh? Zahir had heard them mentioned once in a while, in particular since signing on with SDN, but hadn't met any agents directly since he and his older sister had been pulled aside at Customs. He doubted Myers was working for the agency then. Still, he wondered whether the man ever participated in other border stops, whether he'd ever sat across a plain grey table from children singled out for their powers, anxious tremors in their hands while they tried to seem brave for their families. Not important. Not right now.

What mattered was that Myers knew, in the here and now, who the hell had made this freak cold front ten times worse.

Gaze lingering instead on the shrouded building while the agent explained, Zahir broke down the most important pieces in his mind. So something called a... something Irish, it sounded almost like 'Kellogg' but he knew a fucking cereal didn't cause this. So an Irish creature off in the mountains had gotten pissed and cursed this Simon Anders guy. Then he wrecked a chunk of Oakland, then decided to make it his sister's problem? Zahir kind of wished it'd been a feuding couple.

Yet Agent Myers seemed to think talking was still on the table. Reluctantly, Zahir had to admit to himself... it was possible. He'd seen it work before when he hadn't expected it to. But the man was talking like the plan was going in alone - he shook his head. "That's where we're going, badge-boy," he insisted, offering a hand while his other lowered for the moment. "Come on. Tenth floor, right?"

If Myers accepted his offer, Zahir would pull him close enough to sweep the man up into a bridal carry, then take off into the air with another jet of flame around his lower legs. As he flew into the whirling storm, he did have to adjust his trajectory a few times, but saw the tenth-floor fire escape landing thanks to his polarized shades. He'd settle onto the landing without much issue, fire melting away the gathered snow and ice, then place Myers down in front of the door. "The sooner this shit gets done, the better," Zahir added over the wind. "And stay close when we're inside. Don't want a Fed getting fucking frostbite on my record."

[myersbprd]

Upon receiving that shake of a head, John hoped it was indicative of ' good luck then, I'm staying here ' as opposed to ' no, I'm dealing with this alone and you can get lost. ' However, the response Flambae gave took him aback slightly when it didn't slot into either of those categories.

So, they would do this together after all! Nevertheless, he couldn't help but balk at the scathing moniker leveled at him: badge-boy, as if he harbored some sort of pride or sense of entitlement in waving around a piece of metal. No — it enabled John to protect people who needed him, to act as a liaison for heroes who weren't human and treated like monsters because of it, in a way he couldn't otherwise. Yet to say so would only serve to act in defense of himself ( which was really the least important thing at the moment ), and to someone who probably harbored legitimate antipathy towards those with such a badge, no less.

Right now, they were both focused on saving who they could, and that appeared to be what mattered to Flambae despite any personal aversions. That said quite a lot.

After his gaze settled on the palm Flambae extended to him, he turned to his fellow agents for moment. "Do what we planned, make sure every resident in the building has evacuated and get out anyone hasn't." Then, facing Flambae once more, John took the other man's hand firmly in his with a nod of his head. Although he thought he was prepared, the sudden pull closer before his feet were literally swept out from under him made his lips part and his eyes go wide. Perhaps he wasn't certain if it was the ' proper ' thing to do as they launched higher and higher into the buffeting maelstrom ( did etiquette even exist for these kinds of situations? ), but he instinctively threw his arms around Flambae's neck, intent to hold on however he could.

And, John's heart jumping into his throat while they rapidly gained altitude — it was amazing. This was exactly how he had dreamed for years that it would be like to fly before that first airplane trip to Russia, when he encountered the disappointing reality that for him, flying would always mean a torturous migraine and wishing it would just end already. Even as Flambae fought the storm, wonder was fairly alight in his veins until the biting cold faded into the background. "Wow." The single syllable escaped John in a murmur just before they landed on the fire escape. He would probably never experience anything like that again, yet at least he would always remember this.

Getting his feet under him once more, he nodded at Flambae's statement ( ' The sooner this shit gets done, the better ' ). What followed reached John as he tested the door which was, luckily, open already. ' And stay close when we're inside. Don't want a Fed getting fucking frostbite on my record. ' Oh, this guy really didn't like him. "Got it." Although it might have helped his case to promise, he knew better than to offer guarantees in a circumstance where there weren't any, even if he would try. Regardless, there was one thing John would say. "I promise that I'll have your back." Then, he twisted the doorknob and crossed the threshold.

Somehow, the chill was quieter and harsher inside. Everything within the apartment kitchen they had stepped into was covered in frost. His eyes were so preoccupied taking in the crystallized sheen that it was only the crunch under his shoes that brought his attention down to the thin layer of ice on the floor. It spread in a sheet across the hardwood to two closed doors on either side of the apartment. Which one were Simon and the sister in? Tilting his head, John's gaze darted from the first on the right to the second on the left; while the frigid glaze disappeared below the former, the latter was marked by thicker veins of ice jutting out towards them from beneath. Door number two it was, then.

He had only gone a few paces in that direction when he turned to Flambae again. "Give me a name I can call you," he said softly ( he wasn't sure how aware Simon was of their presence, so he didn't particularly wish to announce their exact movements with loud discussions ). "It doesn't have to be your actual name." There was no reason for Flambae to give it to John of all people to use in this scenario, and he didn't expect he would receive it even if he asked. "Just something — real."